


How Harry Became Hibird

by Starchains



Series: Beginnings and Becomings [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starchains/pseuds/Starchains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Harry is numb. It takes a creepy old man, a creepier teenager, a crying child and a fighter to wake him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Harry Became Hibird

Harry woke up in the hospital wing three days after the last of the Death Eaters had received the Dementor's kiss, five days after his eighteenth birthday, sixty-five days after Voldemort's defeat. Sixty-five days after the death of every friend he'd ever had. His body was barely functional, damaged almost irreparably by the cocktail of curses he had been hit with in the battle. The blank-faced healer said that although he would survive, he would be lucky if he was ever able to leave the hospital bed.

There was nothing left for him. Harry saw now that he had been a child, so idiotically naïve. He had understood that people might die, that not everyone would make it. Nevertheless, when he had pictured the end of the war, it had been with his friends around him celebrating. They would be at Hogwarts, surrounded by cheering students. There was no cheering here. The blank-faced Healer who checked him over and pronounced him fit to leave was no Madam Pomfrey, bustling about and scolding. She had died when the Infirmary had been hit, along with thirty-seven wounded.

Harry had no reason to stay here. He wanted to go, to leave, be anywhere but here. If they tried to make him smile now, if they shoved cameras in front of him and told him to boost morale, he knew that his already fractured heart would shatter entirely, the way his body already had. So, as he heard that grating tone that all politicians seemed to share approaching the Hospital Wing, he shifted form, and flew out the open window. Ginny had flown out over the attackers approaching the school, hoping to take them out before they could reach the gates. She had been hexed out of the sky, and broke her neck when she hit the ground. It was probably a merciful death.

Flying had always been his freedom, his escape. Quidditch had been loved only as his excuse to ride his broom. When he discovered that his Animagus form was a bird, he was thrilled. A rare breed of canary, he could have wished to be more intimidating. In his opinion, the ability to speak was compensation enough. Now, the form was his only way of moving, of living, and he embraced it mind, heart and soul. He indulged for a moment in the bittersweet recollection of Lupin, telling him stories about the transformation of his father and Godfather, and all the mistakes they had made. It had made him feel less embarrassed about being stuck with a beak and a ridiculously high-pitched voice for two days. Lupin and Tonks died together, fighting back to back until they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Their corpses had been laid out side by side in the Great Hall.

Harry didn't want to stay in England. Maybe it was cowardly of him, to run away, but he was so tired. He had nothing left to give, and he couldn't bear the thought of living surrounded by the constant reminders of his weakness, his failures. He had no idea where he wanted to go, so he let his instincts take over. Life was so much easier as bird. The emotions were dulled and distant, a throbbing ache rather than a stabbing pain. He flew almost on autopilot, travelling for days on end, until he encountered more of his kind.

They were surrounding an old man, and pecking furiously at bandage-wrapped figures who were dragging him away in chains. The bird part of him was attracted to the man, in a way that Harry had only felt it feel for food or a warm place to sleep. With no reason to do otherwise, he followed the man, all the way to a building only slightly more welcoming than Azkaban. As soon as he saw that the bandage people were dragging the man inside, Harry took over. Overriding the bird's instincts, he flew away from the man and landed on bush nearby. He was not going inside there. He refused to be trapped again, especially for a stranger. The prison had he same aura of hopelessness and despair as Azkaban. Even without Dementors, the place had been Hell on earth. Cho Chang had been kissed by a Dementor in Hogsmeade, as she tried to use the Hogs Head to floo students to safety.

Harry decided to stay close to the prison. The memories it dragged to the surface hurt, they burned like acid, but they still were among the less painful he had. It was only now that he had woken slightly that he realised how much of himself he had given to the bird. He had come far too close to losing himself. Hermione had begged him, after the first time he cast an Unforgiveable, to remember who he was. He wasn't allowed to forget what was important to, he wasn't allowed to let go. That hasty promise he had made was the only thing tethering him to life on the worst nights, when he just wanted to let go.

Harry spent a year there, watching the prison. No one but the bandage-wrapped figures ever left, and no one came in. Over time, and with the distancing effect of the Animagus form, he came to an uneasy sort of peace with his memories. He ignored them when he could, and endured them when he couldn't. When he caught sight of a snake in the grass, the instinctive fear of the bird combined with his memories to drive him into the prison, overcoming the revulsion it invoked. He found the creepy old man, and allowed the strange pull the man had on his bird form to comfort him. He didn't think he would ever be able to like snakes. Luna had been bitten by Nagini. She died creating a distraction so that Neville could take its head. Neville himself had thrown himself at the Death Eaters in a grief-fuelled rage. He had taken down five, including Rabastan Lestrange, before he fell.

He didn't stay with the creepy old man for long. His natural curiosity that had been buried for so long resurfaced, and he went exploring. He found a group of three teenagers. One of them was quiet, and one of them seemed almost feral. The third had a bright red eye. The memory of Voldemort made Harry stay away, but the boy seemed to take it as a challenge. He saved part of his bread every day to give to Harry. Soon it turned into a game, with the red-eye boy trying to lure him closer, and Harry teasing him by staying just out of reach.

Harry realised he was having fun. He was enjoying playing with this boy. At once, he let Harry shut down and Bird take over. He flew straight out of the high window and back to his bush, ignoring the wild boy's shout and red-eye's chuckle. He didn't hear how it sounded almost sad. He didn't. What was he doing? How could he laugh when they were all dead? How could he betray their memory like that? He was determined to leave, to stop waiting here. He needed to move on, he was getting attached. Was he trying to replace his friends? He was pathetic.

He stayed in that bush for a couple of days before he convinced himself to leave. He strayed a few miles from the prison, exploring the paths out and the places to hide. He would leave this place entirely soon. Just another day.

Harry was woken a week later by twigs breaking nearby. There was the creepy man! And his three boys, and a pink haired girl, a fierce-looking man and a couple of disturbing people who didn't look human. Had they been released? By the way they were trying to hide and be quiet, Harry guessed not. He flew closer to listen.

"There's a path that way!" The girl was insisting.

"It will be watched. We must be careful, they will be expecting us to take that route," the fierce man told her.

"What do you suggest, then?" Glasses asked.

Harry knew the road they were talking about. He had seen people watching it, and knew that if they tried to escape that way, they would be caught in no time. He wouldn't be betraying the memory of his friends just by helping, would he? They would expect him to help. Ron had died helping people to escape, crushed when Gryffindor Tower was destroyed.

"This way! This way!" he chirped from the bushes. "Follow! Follow"

He flew ahead, along a hidden path that he had discovered in his exploration. It had been hard to find, and would be barely wide enough for a human, but it lead away from the prison and it wasn't monitored. He heard the escapees following behind him.

He led them to the trails end, where it met with a dirt path. There, they all stopped for a while. Harry landed on the red-eye's shoulder, feeling disturbingly pleased when he reached up to stroke him. It had been cruel to take away one of the only comforts a boy in prison had. That was the only reason he was staying with him now. That was the reason that he gave himself when he decided to follow them to Japan, as well.

From his bird perspective, Japan wasn't very different from where the prison had been, or from England. With the creepy man – who was apparently called 'Birds' providing seed for him, he no longer needed to search for food. In one way, that was a plus – no more eating worms! No matter how much he tried to switch off his human mind, worms always made him think of Dudley, and how he had pinned him down and forced him to eat whatever disgusting thing was at hand. The Dursleys had been killed by Voldemort himself. Harry still wasn't sure if Voldemort had been trying to hurt him, or if it had been a genuine gift. Either way, he had appalled his allies by not being upset at the news. Only Hermione had seen how he fell apart in private, anger and resentment and relief and guilt all mixing together into a toxic combination he still hadn't quite purged.

Harry spent a lot of time with red-eye-boy, whose name was apparently Mukuro. The tuft of hair at the back of his head was perfect for nesting in, and his hands were always gentle. Harry wanted nothing more than to stay with this group. He could stay as a bird, distant enough that he didn't have to get involved. The company stopped him from drowning in his memories, and even managed to bring up good ones. M.M.'s clarinet reminded him of a trio of naïve eleven year olds, facing down a giant dog with a carved flute and a handful of spells. M.M. had smiled when he had started to sing along.

But he couldn't ignore what was wrong. The fierce man, Lancia, obviously didn't want to be there. Harry knew that Mukuro was doing something to make him stay, but he had no idea what. He managed to shove that to the back of his mind, until the boy arrived.

He was tiny, with floppy brown hair and a book that was almost as big as he was. The poor child couldn't have been more than ten. Mukuro was smiling at him creepily and asking him to rank things – rank things? What a weird request – as Ken the feral-boy backed him up, baring his fangs. The boy shook his head and started crying and that was where Harry drew the line.

"Being mean! Being mean!" he chirped, as he landed between the boy and Mukuro. Mukuro looked taken aback for a moment, and then smiled falsely.

"Very well then, Ranking Fuuta. The list of the strongest in Namimori will have to do for now. I do hope that you will reconsider eventually." With a creepy kufufu, he left the boy – Fuuta – in the small room, locking the door behind him.

"Don't cry! Don't cry!" Harry chirped, alarmed. He had seen far too many tears in his life. Fuuta was reminding him of Colin, who had been mauled to death by Fenrir Greyback, who was then mobbed by young Gryffindor students who had all but worshipped him. It took sixteen of them to bring him down. Seeing Ken threaten Fuuta had brought the memory to the forefront – if the boy hadn't backed off, Harry probably would have attacked him.

"Tsuna-nii is coming," Fuuta whispered. The idea seemed to give him comfort, so Harry repeated it back.

"Tsuna-nii! Tsuna-nii! Tsuna-nii is coming!" He made the boy giggle, so he kept singing until the boy fell asleep with a hopeful smile on his face.

After that, Harry split his time between harassing Mukuro and comforting Fuuta. Hermione would have scolded Harry for deliberately messing up his hair or chanting "Pineapple! Pineapple!" after he'd heard Mukuro get angry at M.M. for making the comparison between his hair and the fruit. Hermione, who had been cut in half during a duel with Dolohov, finishing what had been started in the Department of Mysteries. Her last act had been to crush his lungs. He died choking on his own blood next to her corpse. With a start, Harry realised that he was able to face the memory head on. He didn't have to force his mind down a different path. He embraced the fierce pride that rose in him. She had fought to the end. She hadn't given up, like he so nearly had. Maybe she wouldn't have been so angry at him for this, after all.

Things started happening once Fuuta arrived. Ken and Chikusa left every day, and came back reporting 'misses', whatever that was code for. Harry wished that he had been paying attention instead of drifting along, cushioned by the mind of the bird. Fuuta grew more and more quiet, and it was getting harder and harder to make him smile. Harry was considering for the first time changing back to human, facing his crippled human body and trying to solve things head on, when he arrived.

There was fire in his eyes as he faced Mukuro. He had come here to protect his territory, to avenge his people. This was a person who would not bend, and would not break. Harry watched as Mukuro cheated, sending the boy into unconsciousness with blossom, of all things, and then kicking him while he was down. Harry chirped in outrage. This was disgusting. Malfoy would have been appalled at the lack of sportsmanship. When they finally got bored and dumped him in a locked room, Harry followed them.

It didn't take long for the boy to come to. Groaning, he pushed himself upright. Harry was shocked. He had seen that the boy was strong, but this was inhuman. If he could cope with such injuries, then maybe there was a way. Maybe Harry could share his strength, until he found his own again. Harry fluttered down onto the boy's knee and waited.

"Hello, bird. I'm Hibari."

"Hibari! Hibari!" It was the closest to a greeting that Harry could manage, and it seemed to please the boy.

"Those herbivores disturbed the peace of Namimori. They will be bitten to death." The phrases were spoken calmly, almost with a sense of ritual. Harry got the feeling that Hibari took comfort from them.

"Bite to death! Bite to death!" he agreed.

Hibari smiled – barely a quirk of his lips – and started singing softly. After the third run through, Harry joined in.

"Midori tanabiku Namimori no dai naku shou naku nami ga ii..."


End file.
